Sit Softly On Your Shoulder

Chapter 23: Exchanging Gifts

Wei Ying checks his look in the mirror one last time before he sets out. He waited until the house was quiet before changing into the deep blue hanfu Wen Qing had made him buy once, nagging in that caring way of hers and insisting that he should have at least one set of traditional clothes for special occasions. Wei Ying wasn't even sure at the time, why he kept saying no when it was obviously important to him to have a piece of his own culture in his closet, close enough to touch whenever he needed to. But the way this precious set of clothes was kept pristine in a cloth-covered hanger spoke volumes about his feelings instead.

He's carefully wrapped his long hair into a top knot secured by a red pen. It's embarrassing, but it is either that or one of Wen Popo's ceremonial chopsticks, but he hasn't got the guts to ask her. Having said that, he knows that if he asked any members of his family for something a little more special, he would have been given any number of decorated hairpins. But his family has given him too much anyway, and he doesn't want to ask for more. The red highlights in his hair glint, enhanced by the red ink of the pen. It will have to do. A few strands loosen to frame his face, and Wei Ying sighs.

He's feeling tired but excited.

Last night, he had expected a disagreement when extricating himself from Lan Zhan’s side for the evening, and thank God Lan Zhan was distracted because Wei Ying was able to get away without a fuss. He still had lots of finishing touches to apply, and the problem with anything creative is exactly that. When the process is layered, each addition is questionable, and even when the words are said out loud, phrases like, “is that enough? Maybe a little more,”, the rendering meant a little more work. Consequently, Wei Ying had been up until three o'clock in the morning. He allowed himself a tiny sleep in until A-Yuan had woken him up again with a wet but not unwelcome sloppy kiss to his cheek about an hour ago.

“Lan Zhan likes you,” he whispers to his reflection. “Even if he doesn't like what you've made, it's okay. Material things are just that. It won't change his mind.” Wei Ying swallows down his nerves, feeling too nauseous for breakfast. “Let's get this show on the road.”

If his hand trembles on the door frame as he leaves, he purposefully ignores it.

Sunday morning is quiet in Yiling. Everyone is either asleep or still convincing themselves that they need to be, so no one meets Wei Ying on the road. It's not even midday yet, and so most of the shops are closed too. Wei Ying forces himself to concentrate on the way the sunlight glimmers on the lush green leaves of the full trees, most of them more than twice his age, lining the pavement that he walks upon, admiring the few dandelions that have dared to bloom along the edges of the grassy verges alongside the main road. He spots a robin and a few strangely common green parrots and a few dozen monochromatic magpies cackling up above him.

They're a sign of good luck, he remembers, thinking about the age-old tale of the cowherd and the weaver girl separated for all time, only destined to meet via a bridge of these beautiful sympathetic birds who came together to unite them.

Someone must be cutting grass somewhere because the air is magnificent with the perfume of it, a fragrance that simultaneously makes Wei Ying hungry and anxious and delirious with joy.

His feet are walking that much faster, needing and wanting to reach Lan Zhan sooner.

How is it that his life has changed so much in such a small amount of time? How is it that he can feel any number of vastly different emotions and want to share it, share them, and share everything with this one person? It feels so big, suddenly. That at the end of this road, Lan Zhan is waiting for him.

Wei Ying pulls out his phone and calls him, even as he breaks into a sprint.

“Lan Zhan!” He shouts it out, his heart overflowing with a sea of his love.